


fire building up inside

by imadetheline



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Hurt Luke Skywalker, Protective Darth Vader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-28
Updated: 2021-01-05
Packaged: 2021-03-10 16:27:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28380156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imadetheline/pseuds/imadetheline
Summary: He’s not sure how long he stays in a daze, watching the ship spark and burn in the shallows, sand and smoke burning his eyes and lungs. It can’t have been that long, though, because he quickly realizes the smoke isn’t the only reason his lungs are burning: they’re heaving in search of oxygen, oxygen that isn’t filling them.Or: Luke crashes, and the planet's atmosphere is not exactly conducive to his survival.
Relationships: Luke Skywalker & Darth Vader
Comments: 110
Kudos: 384
Collections: Luke and Vader Bonding





	1. i used to whisper it will be alright

**Author's Note:**

> titles from forest fire by brighton

Han was right, Luke thinks bitterly as he jerks on the lifeless x-wing’s controls. Even without the Force, the man somehow seems to have a sixth sense for bad situations. Distractedly Luke thinks maybe that means he should listen to the smuggler more, but he’ll be damned if he’s ever going to tell Han that. That is if he makes it out of this alive.

He wasn’t even supposed to be in this system. Stupid Imperials. They’d damaged his ship before he’d managed to jump to hyperspace. The x-wing had suddenly lost power, and he’d fallen out of hyperspace in a completely useless lump of metal into an unfamiliar system. His nav controls were fried, leaving him with no clue where in the galaxy he’d been thrown. He privately thinks if R2 had been with him, maybe this wouldn’t have happened. But the little droid had been in for repairs, and anyway, it was only supposed to be a quick supply run. But then he’d run into a star destroyer above the drop planet. There had been no reports of the Empire there, and even worse, he hadn’t been able to pick up the much-needed supplies for the rebellion. 

But as he desperately pulls on the controls and presses unresponsive buttons Luke concedes that he’s got more immediate problems. The rapidly approaching atmosphere could prove dangerous, and he has no clue what’s waiting for him on the planet he’s quickly plummeting towards. He supposes he’s been in worse situations, but he’d have preferred this to be a smooth mission. It’s only been two months since… His prosthetic hand clenches painfully, and he pushes that thought away. He’d finally been cleared for missions again, and this was supposed to be easy.

The metal under Luke’s fingers shudders as the ship’s nose lights up upon entrance to the atmosphere. Blue, largely unbroken but with occasional green strips, is hurtling towards him, and he curses. If the x-wing hits one of the large planetwide lakes, he doesn’t think he’ll be able to swim far enough with his meager skills to reach the scarce land. 

He closes his eyes and sucks in a breath, reaching out through the Force, feeling for the shape of his ship, and pulls up as hard as he can. The plummeting descent slows minutely, but the planet’s surface is still getting closer at an alarming rate. The ship shudders again as his concentration wavers, and he grits his teeth, tightening his grip, and yanks the craft to the side instead, trying to angle it towards the narrow stripes of green crisscrossing the vast swathes of blue.

He feels parts of the ship creak and break apart, but the nose finally changes direction. Luke trembles under the strain, the shape of the ship in the Force flickering as he desperately tries to maintain a grip on it.

Too late, he hears the screeching of tearing metal and only has time to snap his eyes open before the console in front of him sparks and explodes, and he loses his grip on the ship as darkness crashes into him.

<<<>>>

He jolts awake to pain and confusion. His head aches, and there’s something warm trickling down his temple. Smoke obscures his viewport, and the creaking of metal doesn’t bode well. The Force is yelling at him.  _ Danger. Danger. _ The ship whines and he can feel the impending explosion like a bubble about to pop in the Force. 

His fingers scrabble for the crash webbing, pulling it off, and with the last of his coherent thoughts, he thinks to search frantically for his emergency pack by his feet. The heat is almost suffocating, and sweat mingles with blood on his temple as he pushes open the cockpit of the x-wing. Smoke billows into his lungs, and he coughs harshly. His chest screams at him, and he finally registers the pressure on his lungs, but there’s no more time to examine it. The Force is an urgent whining in his ears, or maybe that’s the ship. Either way, he jumps from the x-wing, gathering the Force behind his leap to propel him further away from the crash.

His body protests as he rolls to cushion his landing, emergency kit falling from his fingertips where he’s sprawled on a beach, sand already everywhere. The ship behind him explodes in a ball of flames and shrapnel. The heat burns at his back, even through his flight fatigues, and there’s a flash of pain in his arm. Luke’s head is ringing, and he turns over, propping himself up in the sand.

He’s not sure how long he stays in a daze, watching the ship spark and burn in the shallows, sand and smoke burning his eyes and lungs. It can’t have been that long, though, because he quickly realizes the smoke isn’t the only reason his lungs are burning: they’re heaving in search of oxygen, oxygen that isn’t filling them.

Luke scrambles for the emergency kit with shaking fingers. Black spots are dancing in his vision as he finally manages to open it and finds what he needs. The mask slips over his face, and he breathes in the crisp, untainted oxygen that seems to be in short supply on this planet.

Which doesn’t bode well as he sees that the mask only has one tank the size of his forearm attached to it. He examines it and isn’t heartened by what he sees: it only guarantees five hours of oxygen. He barely contains a sigh, which would waste the life-giving gas. He needs to conserve it. Luke closes his eyes and grits his teeth, taking a gulp as deep as his protesting ribs will let him, and then he lowers the mask.

His eyes flick open, and he holds his breath, reaching for his comm, only to find it sparking and completely busted. Great. Well, he should at least get off this beach and find some shelter, hopefully not in the direct line of the sun beating down on him.

He glances around at the treeline behind him, scanning it with his eyes and the Force for potentially dangerous organisms but senses nothing that should worry him. His breath of oxygen has run out, though. He experimentally tries to suck in oxygen from the atmosphere. It works, barely. There’s obviously some in the air, just not enough to sustain human life for very long. His lungs protest, and he brings the mask up again as he grabs for the kit with aching muscles and moves towards the promising shade of the trees.

<<<>>>

Two hours later, and his frustration is mingling with despair. He’d used the limited medical supplies, no bacta, only bandages, to wrap the shrapnel cut on his arm, which has, by now, stopped bleeding. And he’d been able to clean some of the blood from his head wound, but without proper treatment, there’s nothing he can do for his definitely broken ribs that protest whenever he tries to shift or draw in a deep breath. He can’t afford many of those anyway, though, not with the limited oxygen. It’s made worse, though, by the fact that soon after he’d moved to the trees, the remnants of his ship had sunk into the lake, so there’s no hope of using its parts to fix his damaged comm.

He sighs and then groans at the loss of oxygen. Sweat drips down his temple, a headache building as he tries to hold his breath every few minutes. Sunlight glints off and through the strangely translucent leaves, casting fractals of light across the sand. If it was in better circumstances, Luke might find it captivating. Now it just makes his stomach churn nauseatingly. 

He tries again what he’s already tried twice now, stretching out with his senses, reaching for that ball of glowing energy in the Force, the one that means reassurance and hope and comfort, that wraps around him whenever she’s near.  _ Leia.  _

But it doesn’t work, not like it had on Bespin. Her presence twitches, but he can tell she doesn’t notice his efforts. Luke shuts his eyes against the dancing lights piercing his retinas. He’s not sure if it’s because of the distance or something else that he cannot reach her. He doesn’t think so; it just feels like the Force is tugging him in a different direction. She’s not the answer this time. It’s pulling him towards that dark corner of his mind where cold flames lie dormant. 

He jerks back, realizing, and his head smacks against the tree behind him as his eyes snap open, precious air leaving his lungs in a whoosh. He scrambles numbly for the mask, pulling it over his face as he tries to process.

That bond, the bond with his… father, the one that had snapped into place amongst the pain of Bespin, has lain quiet in the back of his mind. Vader had contacted him through it after Leia had picked him up in the Falcon. It had shaken Luke more than he likes to admit, and ever since then, it’s been locked up tightly, silenced, even when he feels the quiet tugs from the other side.

His eyes flutter shut again, this time in exhaustion, his fingers shaking where they hold the mask up to his nose and mouth. He quickly yanks them back open and sucks in a painful breath, once more lowering the mask. His muscles tug at him, but he can’t fall asleep, not here.

And yet the Force is tugging him towards that darkness, whispering wordless encouragements. He pushes it away. He’d chosen death over joining his father once before; how is this any different?

If he dies here, he deprives Vader and the emperor of another apprentice, guarantees he’ll never turn. And yet… he doesn’t want to die, has never wanted to die, not even on Bespin. And the longing to know his father still sits untouched in his chest. No matter who he is, Luke had wanted to know him, still wants to know him. And the Force is murmuring that it’s what he needs to do. And maybe, maybe this will let Luke find that goodness in his father he firmly believes still exists. If nothing else, if he makes it off this planet, he can always escape; it’s what he’s best at, after all.

His lungs are burning, the pressure in his chest increasing, and he raises the mask again, keenly aware of the amount of oxygen slowly declining, but with his mind made up. He follows the guidance from the Force and experimentally brushes against the dark tendrils of the bond.

Nothing happens.

Despair crashes into Luke anew; this was his last hope. He leans his head back against the tree, not bothering to wipe away the sweat on his temple. Weariness tugs at his arms, still holding the mask to his nose and mouth. His chest twinges as he breathes.

And then the darkness shifts in the back of his mind, reaching with wordless emotions of question and triumph. Luke’s head jerks at the odd sensation, so unlike the bright flames of Leia’s presence, but yet… not. He tentatively reaches back, finding it easy even though he’s not quite sure what he’s doing.

He tries to push some of his emotions through the bond, pain and despair, make his father understand without the words he’s not sure how to form. Instantly, sparks of fear rise to meet him, and he has a moment to wonder if that means his father cares before words are echoing in his skull.  _ What’s happened? Where are you? _

He winces at the forcefulness, though the tone is not as deep or rasping as it is in person. But now that Vader’s spoken, Luke finds he knows how to form words back, as if his father had only spoken to show him it’s possible.  _ I’m fine.  _ Not completely true, but he’s not going to go around just admitting injuries to Darth Vader, even if he is his father.  _ Just stranded. _ That one’s very true.

_ You’re lying.  _ The voice is dark and accusing, and Luke lowers the breathing mask in shaky hands, indignant, but before he can protest, the voice softens, fear once again replacing anger in the Force.  _ You are injured. _

Something in Luke’s chest aches at that, and he doesn’t think it’s his ribs this time. His mind whispers rebelliously,  _ he cares.  _ He sucks in a shallow breath of the planet’s atmosphere, lungs burning, and then reluctantly raises the mask again. His hope that Vader will even reach him in time is dwindling with the oxygen supply.  _ I’m fine,  _ he reassures again.  _ It’s nothing too bad,  _ he amends.

Vader doesn’t bother to shield his suspicion, letting it flow freely across their bond. Luke rolls his eyes and winces as his headache spikes.  _ Where are you? _ Vader repeats, apparently letting his inquiries about Luke’s health go for now. His tone that of a commanding officer that brooks no argument.

_ Um, about that…  _ Luke grimaces and takes another shaky breath.  _ I don’t actually know. My ship was damaged, and I fell out of hyperspace… somewhere.  _ His body aches, and he’s so tired. Despite the bright sunlight and the sweat sticking his fatigues to his skin, his fingers feel cold, numb. His eyes shut again.

There’s a rumbling across the bond, and if Luke’s mind was clearer, he’s have sworn it was a mental sigh.  _ If you… let down your shields, and try to project your presence, I will be able to find you. _

It’s hesitant, as if he knows Luke will protest. But Luke doesn’t have the energy, not now, not here, not without millions of things unsaid between them, not when it’s his father. So he just sinks into the Force, letting the irritation of sand in his clothes and the pain behind his eyes ground him as he stretches out, reaching for that cold presence wreathed in dark flames that don’t burn. It’s not as far as he had expected, certainly not as far as Leia. He finds it, and he lets it swirl around him, waiting and encouraging, as he tries to summon mental pictures of the bright, glimmering lakes, the green fractaled light spilling through trees, the blinding sand, and push them towards the other presence.

He jolts back to his body suddenly, gasping for air before he can stop himself. His ribs protest, aching, and the pressure increases even as he desperately tries to control his frantic breaths; he can’t afford the waste of air. Slowly, he’s able to even out his inhales, counting between breaths. Somehow, his limbs feel even heavier after that endeavor. He just hopes Vader got the location.

It appears he has:  _ I will retrieve you. Do not move _ . It’s a command, and an unnecessary one, Luke thinks. It’s not like he can go anywhere. That’s kind of why he’d reached out to his father in the first place. But he doesn’t want to argue; he really just wants to sleep.

But then, he should probably tell Vader about the atmosphere. Something in his mind is telling him that’s important information.  _ Father?  _ There’s a wave of warmth at the appellation that Luke’s too dazed to process.  _ I only have a limited supply of oxygen.  _ He almost chuckles.  _ So speed would be appreciated. _

If he had been standing, Luke thinks his knees might have buckled under the pure force of the anger, quickly eclipsed by fear and concern, that crashes through their bond. As it is, it still manages to knock the air from his lungs, something he does not appreciate. The tide is quickly pulled back at the thought.  _ Why did you not lead with that information? _ comes the voice, tight with barely restrained rage and worry.

_ Didn’t… think about it.  _ He feels exhaustion pulling at him, weighing him down, making it hard to form words, even within his mind. With the last of his strength, he finally uses the strap on the oxygen mask to fit it over his mouth and nose, so he doesn’t have to hold it. It will deplete the gas faster, as he’s not taking breaks to hold his breath, but he knows he’s not going to retain consciousness for very much longer.

It seems his father can sense it too because there’s a pause before he replies, his voice lighter and somehow soothing. _Hold on, my son. I’m coming._ _Stay awake._ The last statement is more of a plea than a command, but the words are reassuring.

Luke manages to obey his father’s wish for another minute or two before his eyes slip shut, exhales steadily clouding the plastic of the mask strapped to his face.


	2. and take your tiny hands into mine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He feels disconnected from his body, eyes squeezed shut, when he feels himself being set down and the rumble of engines beneath him. His stomach churns and he sucks in another deep breath, unimpeded by lack of oxygen, and almost cries at the relief. He’s never been more grateful for the gas’s presence in the air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was just an excuse to write fluff so i hope you guys like it :)

Luke wakes to a burning in his lungs: something’s choking him. His hands scrabble at his neck, his face, and find the plastic of the oxygen mask, but there’s no more oxygen in it. His memories return in a flood as he pulls the mask from his face, trying to suck in air. Calm, he needs to stay calm. There’s oxygen in the air, if not enough. If he slows his breathing, he can make it for a few more minutes. 

His heart is in his throat, though, racing heartbeat echoing in his skull. His inhales are too shallow, and panic is rising. He’s going to die here, alone. Black spots are dancing in front of his eyes, and there’s a strange fuzziness in his limbs. His lungs aren’t expanding. He’d never really considered the terror that comes with desperately wanting air and not being able to get it. But now it’s rising inside him.

Distantly, he remembers his father. Despair mingles with the terror: his father hadn’t come for him. Cold sinks into his bones, swirling in his head. His lungs are seizing, black spots coalescing, and filling his vision. 

But the darkness is warm as he feels it tug him closer within its depths. Is he floating? This isn’t how he pictured death. The cold is still swirling but not inside him. 

And then the darkness moves, the harsh white of artificial lights flashing across Luke’s vision. He doesn’t have time to register them.

Luke greedily sucks in air: crisp, filtered air. His ribs protest, but there’s so much air, and he can’t stop. His lungs are seizing around the life-giving oxygen. He’s coughing and gasping for air, his vision flickering.

He feels disconnected from his body, eyes squeezed shut, when he feels himself being set down and the rumble of engines beneath him. His stomach churns, and he sucks in another deep breath, unimpeded by lack of oxygen, and almost cries at the relief. He’s never been more grateful for the gas’s presence in the air.

Luke doesn’t need to open his eyes to know the other presence he can sense in the ship is his father. He had come for him. His hearing finally registers shifting movement in the ship, and the steady inhale of a respirator, a confirmation he doesn’t need, his father’s presence wrapped around him in the Force evidence enough. Something sparks in his chest: a warmth that feels like gratefulness and something lighter. He pushes it across their bond with barely a thought, exhaustion again creeping in now that his adrenaline is draining away. A similar warmth returns to him, a sense of protectiveness in the cold flames wrapped around him.

The spikes of pain and aches throughout his whole body begin to register, his breathing steady if shallow allowing his focus to shift elsewhere, but then there’s a soothing wave of calm that crashes into him, spreading from his head to his toes. He hopes that’s his father and not some warning sign of his body shutting down.

_ It is me, _ comes the immediate reassurance across their bond, and Luke relaxes. Something warm settles itself across his body, and he finally blinks his eyes open. His fingers twitch under the dark material draped across him before he registers it as his father’s cape. His prosthetic tangles in it, grounding him as he blearily glances around from his position on a cot. He can make out grey walls and bright lights, but most of his vision is obscured by the hulking figure of Darth Vader hovering by his side.

Luke tilts his head to meet the mask’s gaze, and his throat burns, protesting, but he manages, “Thank you.”

A large hand brushes across his forehead, pushing the sweaty strands of hair away from his face, and there’s a rumble, softer than he’d thought the vocoder could go, “Hush, child. You must rest.” 

Luke doesn’t respond, doesn’t think he can find the energy. Instead, he just closes his eyes again and turns into the hand resting against his cheek, basking in the affection, and projects his contentment to his father: the father who’d come to his rescue, who wants him as Luke desperately wants a father.

_ Rest _ the voice echoes in his head, stronger this time, and he can tell the Force is behind it. He doesn’t bother resisting; sleep is welcome. He can feel his consciousness slipping away when the warm hand falls from his face. Faster than he’d thought he was capable of in this state, his hand extricates itself from the heavy cape and grabs for his father, catching his durasteel wrist. The man stops, and Luke finds the strength to whisper  _ stay  _ across their bond.

Vader steps back closer and takes Luke’s smaller hand in his own. And, for the first time, he stays.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> decided i might end up writing a chapter that's just from vader's perspective if i ever get around to it so if you guys are interested lmk. also I'm open to more luke and vader prompts right now so if you have one, angsty or fluff, please send me an ask on tumblr and i might write it :)


	3. i hope you know

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At first he doesn’t register the hesitant brush of light, deep in meditation as he is. By the time he realizes what it is it’s retreating. Triumph bubbles over and he lunges for it, darkness reaching for that brightness that had at last reached out. He’d been starting to think it never would.
> 
> But it had, Luke had. And Vader’s not going to let the opportunity slip through his fingers. Though he does have to wonder why Luke decided now was the best time. He lets his curiosity flow freely. For a moment there’s silence and Vader feels a sudden stab of fear that Luke is going to close him off as he had after Bespin, that maybe his reaching out was accidental.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> decided to split this into two parts so this is the 1st chapter from Vader's pov. (how does this keep getting longer??) hope you enjoy!

At first, he doesn’t register the hesitant brush of light, deep in meditation as he is. By the time he realizes what it is, it’s retreating. Triumph bubbles over, and he lunges for it, darkness reaching for that brightness that had at last reached out. He’d been starting to think it never would.

But it had,  _ Luke _ had. And Vader’s not going to let the opportunity slip through his fingers. Though he does have to wonder why Luke decided now was the best time. He lets his curiosity flow freely. For a moment, there’s silence, and Vader feels a sudden stab of fear that Luke is going to close him off as he had after Bespin, that maybe his reaching out was accidental.

But then that light is brushing against the bond again, hesitantly and tinged with confusion, and Vader’s fear is smothered by anger. Kenobi had truly taught the boy nothing of the Force. He should have died far sooner.

But then the bond is flooding with uncontrolled pain and fear. It pushes the air from his lungs with the force of it, but he doesn’t have time to be thankful he’s in his meditation pod and not at the mercy of his suit’s respirator before his own fear is consuming him. His fist clenches on the arm of his chair, and the metal groans beneath his grip; whoever has dared to harm his son will die. He will not lose the boy, not now that he’s only just found him.  _ What’s happened? Where are you?  _ If he had been speaking out loud, the words would have been yelled but he makes sure to form the words clearly, even in his fear, trying to convey to Luke how to respond.

He’s clearly a quick learner; the response is quick.  _ I’m fine. _ Lying, the Force whispers, and his anger sparks, but Luke continues,  _ Just stranded.  _

_ You are lying.  _ But as soon as he lets it float across the bond, he knows it will only invite argument, something he does not want when his son had willingly reached out to him, had turned to him for help, at least trusted his father not to kill him. The anger is replaced by fear at what the lie means; if Luke is not fine, then…  _ You are injured. _ The moment he says it, he knows it is the truth.

There’s a flash of warmth from Luke, but then it disappears, drawn back behind shields, and Luke says  _ I’m fine.  _ Vader’s anger sparks again at the boy’s insolence, but Luke seems to sense it too and hurries to amend his statement,  _ It’s nothing too bad. _

That one doesn’t seem quite true either, but Vader lets it go, not before letting Luke sense his suspicion. In turn, he senses the boy’s annoyance. His mouth twitches up in amusement, pulling at the scars. But it quickly fades as he recalls his son’s situation. He needs to know where the boy is if he’s to deal with the injuries, no matter how bad they are. Even a scratch on his son means death for whoever put it there.

_ Where are you?  _ He demands, pushing the sense of urgency towards his son. The response comes quickly enough.  _ Um, about that…  _ There’s a pause, and Vader senses a vague sense of embarrassment.  _ I don’t actually know. My ship was damaged, and I fell out of hyperspace… somewhere.  _ There’s a concerning flicker in his son’s light, and the breath catches in Vader’s abused throat. 

He presses a button and starts the process of putting his helmet back on. He needs to find the boy now. And Luke’s lack of knowledge will complicate things, but it is not impossible. Although he hesitates slightly, what he will suggest might drive his son away. Vader doesn’t wish to push the boy, especially when Luke had chosen to reach for him, but it’s the only way he’ll be able to find him. He makes up his mind and pushes the instructions across the bond, hoping Luke will trust him just a bit more.  _ If you… let down your shields, and try to project your presence. I will be able to find you. _

Almost immediately, those tendrils of light are reaching for him, stretching through the galaxy, all remnants of shield gone, and that only conjures more fear as his helmet is lowered onto his head and the pod opens with a hiss. Luke hadn’t even bothered to protest, had just acquiesced. What had happened to him?

But Vader pushes those thoughts away; he needs to focus, and so he reaches back. Without the shields, he can sense Luke’s pain, worse than he’d said earlier, his exhaustion and worry, but there’s also a warmth directed at him? He doesn’t have time to wonder about that impossibility before images of a beach and green trees and the heat of the sun are flashing in his mind’s eye. He quickly latches onto the images, following the light across the galaxy to its source.  _ There. _

He’s suddenly pushed back into his own body. He can sense Luke’s presence do the same. But it had been enough. He’s already stalking out of his quarters towards the bridge, cape snapping at his heels and his comm on as he contacts Piett to enter hyperspace. 

His son’s worry reaches his again, tinged with exhaustion. His shields have not been raised again, his emotions unguarded. Vader’s pace remains swift, but he pauses in his planning of how to increase their speed to send reassurance to Luke.  _ I will retrieve you. Do not move. _

There’s a strange mix of amusement and annoyance that drifts towards him at that, but he pushes it away, ignoring the troopers that not so subtly jump out of his way. 

He begins to withdraw from the bond, intent on focusing on what needs to be done, but before he can, the light once again reaches for him.  _ Father? _ A rush of warmth fills his chest. He hadn’t realized how much he’d longed for his son to accept him as his father; to actually acknowledge it was more than he’d dared hope for. He winces at the flickering of his son’s light, quickening his pace even as he feels the rumble of the engines as Piett makes the jump to hyperspace.

And then his son speaks,  _ I only have a limited supply of oxygen. So speed would be appreciated,  _ and if the respirator wasn’t forcing air into his body, he’s sure his lungs would have seized. His anger roars in his ears and the Force, but it slips through his grasp just as quickly, fear and concern almost stopping him in his tracks. Luke’s presence jerks away from the emotions, and Vader pulls them back behind his shields, pushing them down. He does not wish to cause his son distress, will not allow his emotions to distract him from saving his son.  _ Why did you not lead with that information?  _

_Didn’t… think about it._ Even his son’s voice in the Force is weak, his presence clouded with exhaustion and confusion. He can feel consciousness slipping through the boy’s fingers. His fingers clench at his side as he finally enters the bridge. Luke needs to keep his guard up. He accompanies his next words with a wave of calm, trying to soothe Luke’s pain. _Hold on, my son. I’m coming._ _Stay awake._

Piett is approaching him now, and he turns to the man, carefully maintaining his awareness of Luke through their bond. The admiral stands unafraid before him, “We will be there in under four hours, my lord.”

Vader almost growls but refrains from choking his only competent and trusted admiral thus far. Instead, “I want us there in three.” And then he’s turning away, not waiting for Piett’s response, and marching to the viewport, the blue and white of stars flashing by a familiar view.

  
It’s another minute before he feels Luke slip into unconsciousness. But when he reaches for that familiar anger, all he finds is fear.  _ Please _ , he sends out into the expanse of the Force. He is it’s chosen one, it’s child, and he hopes it hears his plea for his own child and listens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> will continue vader's pov soon hopefully
> 
> oh and happy new year! so grateful to everyone who read my fics this year and encouraged me in comments. i am so lucky and i can't thank you guys enough!!!


	4. that you're my home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Endless blue is reaching up to meet him, but he doesn’t even need the ship’s scanners to tell him which strip of green Luke is on; he could tell from the moment he entered the system. Luke’s panic only makes it easier to pinpoint him. Hold on, my son.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here's the 2nd chapter but from Vader's pov. hope you like it!

He’s boarding a shuttle before they’ve even dropped out of hyperspace, with strict instructions to Piett to maintain secrecy and make sure his private hangar is empty when he returns. Vader trusts Piett to be discreet.

The shuttle jolts when the Executor exits hyperspace, and this close, his son is like a beacon in the Force, bright but flickering in unconsciousness.

Vader foregoes a pilot, preferring to fly the shuttle himself, for privacy and speed. He always prefers to fly himself, but he is usually forced to endure other pilots for the sake of ceremony. But today, he will not let that ceremony get in the way of saving his son.

The flight is smooth and far quicker than would be expected from any self-restrained Sith lord. But he’s never been good at restraint. The fear that he’d been able to push down and bury during the hyperspace trip is rising up again, choking him as he reaches for Luke’s presence, as if he could pull the boy to his arms with pure will.

The shuttle scans the atmosphere as he enters, and sure enough, it only contains 11% oxygen. Nothing his suit can’t protect him from, but without the oxygen tank Luke must be using, the boy would have… He pushes the thought from his head: he will not lose his son. But even as his eyes scan the shuttle’s display, he feels Luke’s presence spike in fear and panic; his light flickers again. He reaches desperately for the boy, wrapping his own presence around him, and pushes the ship even faster, diverting all power to the engines.

Endless blue is reaching up to meet him, but he doesn’t even need the ship’s scanners to tell him which strip of green Luke is on; he could tell from the moment he entered the system. Luke’s panic only makes it easier to pinpoint him.  _ Hold on, my son. _

Vader sees the remains of an x-wing, and there, at the treeline, is the bright orange of rebellion flight fatigues. His prosthetics clench around the shuttle’s controls as he sets the ship down with a lurch, not bothering to be gentle, and he jumps from the ramp before it even touches the sand. Fear is gripping him tight, choking him as certainly as the atmosphere is doing to his son. 

Sith lords certainly do not run, but if Vader does so, there’s no one around to say anything. His presence is wrapping tightly around Luke, and then soon after, his arms. Vader’s heart clenches painfully at the sight, even as he turns swiftly back towards the shuttle’s open ramp. Luke struggles weakly, his chest heaving in search of oxygen that it can’t find, and his eyes have closed, but Vader can see the frantic movement behind his eyelids. Vader’s brain is on autopilot; he can’t think, thoughts consumed by panic.

And then they’re up the ramp and in the shuttle with its filtered oxygen, and Luke is gasping and coughing, and Vader’s heart is beating out of his chest. He didn’t think it was capable of that anymore. But slowly, thoughts are returning to him as oxygen returns to the son cradled in his arms. 

The boy’s eyes flicker, and his hands clench and unclench around nothing. Vader tries to keep his breathing in time with the respirator as he forces himself to set the boy down in one of the alcove cots. And yet, he can’t bring himself to leave Luke in the cabin so he can pilot the ship. But the boy needs medical attention, so he stretches out quickly in the Force and flicks the autopilot on, relieved when his suit registers the engine’s answering rumble as the shuttle lifts from the beach.

Luke’s breathing has calmed minisculely, but his eyes remain firmly shut as Vader returns his attention to the boy. Vader’s panic has finally calmed enough to probe the boy’s small frame for injuries with the Force. Anger quickly takes its place when he brushes across the broken ribs--explaining why Luke’s breathing is still too shallow--and the hastily bandaged cut on his upper arm, as well as minor burns on his back and bruises everywhere. Vader’s anger flares; the pilot who had caused this would pay.

But then emotions are prodding at him from the bond: whispers of gratefulness and another lighter emotion Vader doesn’t know how to name. But he finds the same one swelling in his own heart in response and pushes it back towards his son.

His son’s awareness is slowly returning as his shallow breathing steadies, and Vader feels the moment Luke recognizes his own pain; the Force twinges in sympathy. On instinct, Vader’s presence, still wrapped around the boy, reaches for the pain and dampens it, cutting off Luke’s perception of it, in what he hopes is a calming gesture. Luke’s fear rises for a single moment in wonder at the strange sensation, but Vader is quick to reassure him-- _ It is me-- _ and it seems to work: Luke’s shoulders relax slightly against the metal of the alcove, orange flight suit bright against the grey. 

Vader aches to wrap the boy in his arms, the only place where he can ensure no one will ever harm his son again. But he refrains and instead reaches up for the clasps of his cloak, sweeping off the thick black armor weave material in one swift motion. It dwarfs Luke as he drapes it over him, and Vader’s lips tug up painfully at the image; he gets his stature from  _ her. _

Luke’s eyes open blearily--Vader sees the boy’s hand grasp at the cape as if its a lifeline--and he glances dazedly around before landing on Vader. Luke’s chin tilts slightly, his eyes raising to--eerily accurately--find Vader’s gaze through the mask, and his throat works a few times before he rasps, “Thank you.”

Vader’s heart clenches, and he wants to yell that he does not deserve it, that any good he has done cannot possibly make up for all the bad, but another part of him just wants to take his son and run, run from his master and the entire galaxy. Instead, he just reaches hesitantly for his son and allows himself to brush strands of hair from the boy’s forehead as he says, “Hush, child. You must rest.” And it’s true; the boy desperately needs sleep, real sleep. But it’s so far from what Vader wants to say:  _ I do not deserve you, I will do anything for you. _

But then Luke’s eyes shutter again, and he turns into Vader’s hand, still resting lightly on his cheek, and all words are stolen from the towering menace, a sense of peace and trust radiating from the small boy.  _ Rest _ , he projects back, pulling on the Force to put power behind the word. 

It’s a lie; he hasn’t felt this powerless in over two decades.

He feels Luke slipping into unconsciousness and forces himself to take a step back, to pull his hand from his son’s face and turn away. Vader can’t, he shouldn’t, allow this. But before he even registers it, Luke’s hand is wrapped around his wrist.  _ Stay.  _ It’s less than a thought, less than a whisper, but it’s there, and Luke is reaching for him. There’s not really a choice. He’s so powerless.

And so Vader steps back towards Luke and wraps the warm, small hand between his metal fingers. And he stays.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we've reached the end. hope you guys enjoyed it, and thank you so much for all your wonderful comments. they make me so happy :)

**Author's Note:**

> If you guys liked it leave a comment. They make my day! Seriously I love reading them so please leave me one cause they motivate me to write more! if you guys have ideas for other stories send me an ask on tumblr [here](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/imadetheline) or just yell about stuff with me. Info about me and all my other tumblrs are [here](https://infoabtmaddie.carrd.co/#)


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